


He Could Make Hell Feel Just Like Home

by WinchesterNovak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Missing Scenes, slight body horror, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9199229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterNovak/pseuds/WinchesterNovak
Summary: Even though it feels like they’re a million miles from Brooklyn and the Steve and Bucky that they left behind, in a frozen wasteland of hell, Bucky can’t help but feel like he’s home.





	

Steve knows something’s wrong from the moment he finds Bucky in HYDRA’s labyrinth of a base in Austria. He barely says a word, and it unsettles Steve, worries him. Bucky never shuts up normally and for the first time for as long as he can remember, Steve doesn’t know what his best friend’s thinking.

Steve is disappointed to find Bucky still awake when his watch ends on the second night. He stops about twenty feet away from where Bucky’s leaning against a tree in the large clearing they’ve made camp in, and tries to decide whether to approach him or not. He quickly decides he’s being ridiculous and walks over. They’ve faced everything together, why would this be any different?

“How’re you doing?” he greets. Bucky shrugs as Steve sits against the tree trunk, their sides pressed together.  
“Fine; I’ve been worse.” Steve frowns.  
“You’ve hardly said a word since we escaped,” Steve says, softly. He tries to convey his concern in a way that won’t make it seem like he’s prying. He’s not sure whether he succeeds.  
“Not much to talk about.”  
“There’s plenty to talk about,” Steve disagrees. Though he’s trying to keep his words calm, he’s wary of the small amount of frustration that seeps through.  
“Like what?”  
“Like how you’re coping after whatever HYDRA did to you.”  
“I already told you, I’m fine,” Bucky repeats.  
“No, you’re not!” The words come out louder than Steve was intending and he takes a moment to breathe. The last thing he’s sure either of them wants is to wake the rest of the soldiers and have them listening in on their discussion.

“I think I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s wrong, Buck. You don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to, I just want to know if I can help.” Bucky looks down at the ground, and takes a deep breath. He’s silent for a long time. Just when Steve thinks that he’s not going to answer, Bucky meets his eyes, an uncharacteristically shy expression on his face and begins to recount his time as a prisoner of HYDRA.  


“I don’t remember everything, that’s the worst part. I blacked out a lot, from the pain. They kept injecting chemicals into my arm, cut me open a lot, too. I think they were trying to test how fast I heal, or something. I’m not really sure what they were doing. I’m just tired, now. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix,” he adds. Steve gives him a dubious look. Though Bucky’s tone is reassuring, Steve has a feeling he isn’t quite telling the truth.

XXX

After being debriefed by Colonel Phillips, and taking a shower, Steve visits Bucky in the medical tent. He takes a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to his cot, and is surprised when Bucky’s blue eyes find his face, and greets him with a sleepy smile.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks him.  
“Fine. I mean it this time,” he adds, seeing the unconvinced look Steve sends him. “Only two stitches and some burns. The nurse said she can’t even see where they stuck the needles in.” Steve frowns. It sounds like his own injuries, or lack thereof. He almost mentions Schmitt’s pursuit of super-soldiers, but decides that Bucky’s been through enough.

“So, you’re tall now,” Bucky says after a moment’s silence. It’s the elephant in the room. They didn’t discuss it on the way back from Austria, but Steve could tell Bucky was dying to talk about it. There’s a smile on Bucky’s face, but Steve can see the bitterness behind it.  
“Yeah. I don’t get sick anymore, either,” he adds, trying for a reassuring smile. Bucky shakes his head and the resentment is immediately more apparent.  
“What the hell did you do, Steve? I turn my back for six months and you turn into... this!” His struggle for words is obvious. Though Steve tries to remind himself that Bucky’s probably struggling for something normal to hold on to, he can’t help the hurt welling in his chest.

“Doctor Erskine was a good man. I didn’t have to go through with it if I didn’t want to. I can help now, Buck. I’m _useful_ ,” he stresses. Bucky shakes his head. His lips quirk upwards, but Steve wouldn’t call the expression a smile.  
“You were always useful, Steve.” The words are soft, but they don’t provide Steve with any comfort.  
“How? I could barely work, and when I could, I’d get so sick they’d have to let me go. I couldn’t even fight in the war! I was the definition of useless!” Bucky shakes his head.  
“I never thought that. Neither did your mom.”  
“You’re family, you’re not allowed to.” Steve tries for a joke, but it falls flat.  
“You were fine just the way you were,” Bucky won’t look at him, now.  
“I’m fine now, too, Buck.”

He doesn’t get a response.

XXX

To everyone’s surprise, including his own, Bucky’s fully healed by the next day. The nurse removes the stitches from where the cut on his chest had been, the only reminder aside from the scar that it was ever there, and mumbles to herself that she’s never seen injuries heal like this. The burns he sustained have disappeared, too, with no trace they were ever there. Aside from the slowly fading, dull ache all over his body, he’s completely healthy.

He almost runs into Steve on his way out of the tent.  
“What’re you doing up and about?” Steve looks surprised, to say the least.  
“Just got discharged. The nurse says she’s never seen anything like it,” he adds, with a small smirk. Though the rapid healing has only made him more concerned with exactly _what_ HYDRA pumped into his body, he tries to appear confident, like he always did in Brooklyn. He rarely hides things from Steve, but he wants to save him the concern Steve is all too well known for.

“Do you feel okay?” Steve asks, looking doubtful.  
“Of course, punk. Never been better.” Steve looks unconvinced, but doesn’t say anything else.

They move out of the way when three soldiers hurry towards them, a fourth propped on their shoulders. They both grimace, and start to walk towards the edge of the clearing. They stand in silence for a minute, before Steve speaks again.  
“Colonel Phillips wants to transfer me to England; thinks I’ll be more useful as a strategist over there. He wants some of the prisoners from the HYDRA base to come, too.” Bucky realises it’s an offer before Steve even finishes. “I have a few people in mind. If you want to come, you’re welcome. If not, I could probably get you honourably discharged; stop your mother worrying.”

Going home to Brooklyn sounds like a dream come true. He could go back to his job at the factory and help his mother with odd jobs around the house until Steve comes home. But that’s the problem with the plan. He could never leave Steve. Bucky would never forgive himself if he wasn’t there to protect him. Even if Steve is bigger and taller – and he’d wager stronger – than him now, Bucky still feels the need to protect him. He supposes old habits die hard.

With that in mind, he cracks a smile. The one that he’s been giving Steve since they were kids, when Steve’d suggest some kind of idiotic plan that would surely get them in trouble. It’s fond, but has an exasperated air to it, that suggests he’s barely refraining from rolling his eyes.  
“And leave you here to get yourself killed? I turn my back for six months and you participate in human experimentation. Imagine what’d happen if I left for good,” Bucky’s tone is teasing, but he hopes Steve realises he’s being completely serious. Just to be certain, he adds, “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

Steve smiles, widely, stunningly.  
“I thought you’d say that.” Bucky’s smile widens, no longer exasperated.

He has to reach higher to sling his arm around Steve’s neck, but he manages.

XXX

The bar in London is crowded and noisy with the conversation of soldiers.

The group from the allied camp in Italy arrived two days earlier. Bucky sits by himself at the bar. There are four other prisoners from the HYDRA base at the table a few feet away. He knows them all, at least by name and rank, but only one was in the 107th with him. Normally, he’d join them, but he doesn’t feel up for their cheerful banter tonight.

He’d spent the day in the SSR headquarters underneath the streets of London, being questioned by agents and generals. He’d already relayed the information to both Colonel Phillips and Steve, but the English forces had been adamant that they hear it from him.

He can’t help but find the headquarters claustrophobic. There are too many people in too little space. It reminds him of the cells at the HYDRA base, only everyone here was there of their own will, for the most part, and it doesn’t smell of piss and bile. No matter how much he tries to teach himself otherwise, the place makes him uncomfortable. If it weren’t for Steve, he would have requested leave, gone home to Brooklyn and never come back. But Steve needs him, even if he’d never admit it, so he stays.

He’s noticed Steve looks at Agent Carter a lot. He’s only spoken to her once, for introductions, but he gets the feeling she isn’t someone to mess with. She is beautiful, though; he’ll give Steve credit for taste, even if the thought makes his heart clench painfully.

As though his thoughts have summoned him, Steve walks through the door of the bar. He smiles in greeting at Bucky, and takes a seat on the barstool next to him. He watches as Steve orders a glass of whiskey. He drops his gaze to his own glass, and takes a swig as Steve turns to him with a small smile.  
“I take it you didn’t enjoy your day at headquarters.” Bucky cracks a small, sarcastic smile.  
“That obvious, huh?”  
“I just know you well,” Steve disagrees. Bucky shakes his head.  
“It’s small and there’s too many people. It’s like a prison,” Bucky explains. Taking another mouthful of whiskey to chase the bitter memories away, he notes that alcohol doesn’t seem to have the same effect it used to. He’s on his third, almost fourth, glass, and his head’s still clear. He’s never had trouble holding his liquor by any means, but he’s usually at least a little foggy by now.

The smile drops from Steve’s lips.  
“I should’ve realised it’d bother you. I’ll try to stop them questioning you so much next time, if it makes things easier,” he offers. And Bucky, like he always has been, is caught a little off guard by the amount of concern in Steve’s voice. It makes Bucky feel warm inside.  
“I don’t think they’ll want to question me again, but thanks, all the same.”

They down a few glasses together. Bucky’s mind still stubbornly refuses to fog up. And Steve is disturbingly sober, too, confirming Bucky’s theory. He decides not to mention it to Steve; it’s not like it really matters. HYRDA won’t recapture him. Not from the middle of London, surrounded by allied forces. Maybe this way, if he gets shot in battle, it’ll be less likely to kill him, he muses.

“What’d you think of Peggy – Agent Carter?” Steve corrects himself. Bucky’s heart clenches, in the odd, painful way it has lately, and sinks. He knew Steve would ask at some point, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.  
“She seems nice; wouldn’t cross her though. You’ve got good taste; she’s a looker,” Bucky adds. Steve’s cheeks turn slightly pink, and he ducks his head. Bucky smiles at the sight, despite the situation.  
“You like her okay then?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs in a noncommittal way; he likes her well enough, even if his jealousy is worsening with every second of this conversation. He tries to reason that so long as Steve’s happy, so is he, but he’s not quite sure that’s completely true.

“You think she’s pretty?” Steve adds then, as though he’s only just realised what Bucky had said. A little bit of jealousy colours his tone. Bucky forces a smirk, his stomach sinking.  
“Sure.” He means it, too. Peggy’s stunning. She has an air of confidence to her that reminds Bucky of Steve. If he wasn’t already interested in Steve, he might even have competition for her, if Peggy wanted him. But he is, so Steve doesn’t.

“But you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Bucky gulps down the last of his whiskey, relieved that he’s finally approaching tipsy. “I’ve always preferred blondes.”

XXX

Steve watches Bucky and Peggy talk across the table. SSR headquarters are busy, as usual, and though Steve has been trying to keep Bucky out as much as possible, to avoid making him uncomfortable, both the Colonel and Bucky insisted that he attend the meeting. Peggy’s there, as always, as they pore over a strategic map. The HYDRA bases that Steve or Bucky know the location of have been marked on it, now they’re just trying to decide where to attack first.

Steve’s barely listening to the rumble of chatter surrounding him. Only half of it concerns him, and even less requires his input. He’s already been over it with Phillips and Peggy twice before they decided to get an outsider’s view.

He watches as Bucky and Peggy discuss which base would be the most difficult to attack, and which would probably be the least well-guarded. He’s pleased to see them getting along, he really is, but he can’t help but wonder if they’re getting along _too_ well. The thought sends a violent spike of jealousy through him - one he hasn’t felt since Bucky had been dating Anna Clarke - but for whom, he isn’t sure. Bucky hasn’t tried anything with Peggy since she turned him down last week in the bar, but Steve wonders, all the same.

They reach a conclusion at the same time, and grin at each other. They’re both remarkably good at strategy, though Steve isn’t exactly surprised. He doesn’t think Phillips could have picked better advisors.

“What do you think, Steve?” Bucky’s voice snaps him back to the SSR headquarters. He tries to banish thoughts of Peggy and Bucky together, and the jealousy caused by them, from his head, but it’s a little hard with them both staring across the table at him. He moves his gaze to the map, and traces the lines, idly. Despite his wandering mind, he did catch the last few sentences.  
“It sounds like a plan.”

Peggy and Bucky smile, clearly pleased with themselves. An English soldier appears to remove the map, assumedly to take it to Phillips to be approved, and the three of them are left alone.  
“Now all you gotta do is find a team,” Bucky reminds him as he brushes past, probably to get some air.

The casual smirk on his face doesn’t fool Steve.

XXX

He finds Bucky on the corner of the street, smoking a rare cigarette. Steve considers asking how he’s feeling, but he already knows the answer from Bucky’s shaking hands.  
“You should’ve taken that break,” he murmurs, putting a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Despite his attempts to appear relaxed, Bucky jumps underneath the touch. He drops the facade, quickly, when he registers the concern on Steve’s face.

“I’m fine, Steve.” He takes a deep, rattling breath. “I just hate it down there. It’s too enclosed, too far underground. Could collapse at any minute in an air raid.” Steve watches Bucky’s lips curl around the cigarette and blow the air out. He’s never seen him anxious like this.  
“Well, hopefully this’ll be the last time you have to go down there.” Steve tries to sound reassuring, but he’s not sure it works. Bucky gives a distracted nod and takes another drag. Steve wants to help Bucky after whatever it is that HYDRA’s done to his best friend, to _understand,_ to make everything better. He just doesn’t know how.

XXX

They’re shipping out to Naples tomorrow night. Steve recruited his team the week before in the bar they’re sitting in now. There’ll be an additional month or so of moving through enemy blockades to the Austrian border, where their mission is, so he’s glad they all get along. It would be a long six weeks if they didn’t.

As usual, the six of them are sitting at the table in the corner of the room. He watches as they sing, not quite as drunkenly as usual, though they’re still tipsy. Bucky drinks twice as much as the others, a fact that doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. He wonders, initially, whether it’s because he’s trying to forget the torture from HYDRA, but it’s not long before realises that Bucky’s almost as sober as he.

An amused smile sits on his face as his teammates, who as of tomorrow he’ll be leading into battle, sing an out of tune rendition of the song the pianist is playing. He wonders, idly, as he takes a sip of beer, if Peggy will show up. He quickly dismisses the thought. Her two appearances the week before were rare, as both she and the patrons had told him since.

It’s not long before Monty, the self-appointed voice of reason, declares that it’s time for them all to turn in. Steve leaves the cash for their round, it’s his turn to pay, and they head down the street to the hotel they’ve been put in by Colonel Phillips. They part ways at their respective doors. Bucky lingers in the hall with Steve, but only speaks once all the doors are firmly shut.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” The words are painfully anxious, and Steve notices Bucky’s usual confidence falter. He nods. He can’t lie to Bucky, not tonight, especially when there’s a chance that he may have to begin doing so regularly. He’s excluded parts of the truth before, but he’s never lied about anything, unless it was to keep his best friend from worrying.  
“Yeah. I’ve never led a team before. I can’t help but think I’m gonna mess it up, somehow.” The remark earns a smile from Bucky.  
“You’re gonna do just fine, punk. You’re gonna be a natural leader, I can tell,” Bucky reassures him. Steve grins, widely. He’s not quite sure he believes him, but he’s grateful for the attempt, if nothing.

They stand in silence for a few seconds. Steve’s almost surprised when Bucky breaks it, and even more so when he hears what he has to say.  
“I miss Brooklyn,” he admits. While it’s not uncommon for them to be candid about their feelings, it’s the first time either of them has spoken about home, honestly, since they reunited. Normally, they avoid the topic all together, particularly since Steve offered to get Bucky discharged. Steve thought that maybe they were never going to talk about it again.  
“I know,” he agrees, softly. “I do, too.” There’s a wistful silence for a few seconds, which quickly turns mournful when Bucky adds,  
“I wonder if we’ll see it again.”

Neither of them says anything for a few minutes. They’ve both been thinking it, and trying to avoid it at the same time. Steve’s afraid that he’ll never get to see their crummy apartment again. Sure, it’s draughty and cold as hell in the winter, but it’s home. Steve isn’t leaving anyone behind, if he doesn’t make it home, except the man in front of him. But Bucky has an entire family back home. What happens to them if he doesn’t come back?

The girls are still young. Becca and Liz are working at the Barnes’ store, and Ruth at the factory Bucky had been at before he shipped out. The entire family has been trying to get the girls to college, let them make something of themselves. But the world, in Steve’s opinion, is too slow, and it’s still difficult for girls to be taken seriously. He wonders how they’d manage without Bucky’s income. He doubts the girls would get the educations they deserve. He stops his thoughts there. The path is far too dark to even be considered. Steve would look after them, if anything were to happen. The entire reason he became Captain America in the first place was to save Bucky. That sure as hell isn’t going to change now.

So Steve makes the only promise he can. He will get Bucky home, even if it kills him. He has to.  
“We will, Buck,” he vows. He gives Bucky his most confident smile, one he’s only started wearing since he was recruited for the USO shows. To his relief, Bucky returns it. It’s not the self-assured, nearly arrogant one he reserves for girls; it’s almost reserved. And it makes Steve heart leap into his throat, beat almost painfully.

He wants to make sure nothing ever happens to Bucky. Let him know that he won’t let it. But he doesn’t know how to tell him, hasn’t got the words for it.

They don’t speak again until morning.

XXX

As the ship’s passengers are Captain America and his Howling Commandoes, as they’ve been dubbed by the media, it moves a lot faster than a regular one would. One of Stark’s, Bucky’s told as he boards. They were offered a plane, but the airspace was deemed too dangerous to risk.

A day into the voyage and the team are already bored. There’s not much to do, except play cards and drink, both of which they’re all fairly good at, but it loses its fun after a while; even Dum Dum announces that he’s tired of the routine. Bucky supposes it’s a good thing their half-way through the journey.

Bucky attempts to keep everyone’s spirits up by recounting his and Steve’s adventures in Brooklyn. As most of them end in Steve getting his ass kicked, he spends most of his time shut in his room, drawing.

On the second day, Bucky decides to join him. He excuses himself from the card game at about two; he’s won more times than he can count, and it’s lost its fun at this point. Steve’s room is the furthest away from the others’. He’s located in the hallway next to Bucky’s, and Bucky can’t help but hate the distance it puts between them.

He knocks on the door, and Steve invites him in immediately. He looks up from his sketchbook, and smiles affectionately at the sight of Bucky. It warms him, right to his soul.  
“Poker starting to bore you?” Steve greets. Bucky returns the teasing smile.  
“Dum Dum’s told the same joke three days in a row. If I hear it one more time, I’ll hit him,” Bucky informs him. Steve lets out a laugh and Bucky shuts the door behind him. He comes to sit underneath the window, next to Steve. Ever since the experiment, Steve’s been unnaturally warm and Bucky can’t help but lean into him. Their shoulders and knees press together, and the feeling of the sea rocking them comforts Bucky. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the cool metal wall. Even if everything has changed, he’s glad Steve hasn’t.

“What’re you drawing?” he asks a few minutes later. There’s a moment of silence as the waves slap against the side of the ship.  
“You.” It’s not unusual for Steve to draw him. He has done for as long as Bucky can remember, but somehow, it still sends a jolt through him. Bucky opens his eyes to peek over at the sketchbook in Steve’s lap. It’s him, alright. Perfect, as usual, from the shape of his eyes right down to the cleft in his chin. He’s always loved watching Steve draw, and this time is no exception. The look of pure concentration is rarely worn in other situations, except on the battlefield.

The thought makes him uncomfortable – that something so sacred and pure could be ruined by the war – so he pushes it from his mind. Steve’s eyes crinkle at the corners, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, and his lips are pursed slightly. His hands, though larger than they were the last time Bucky saw him put pencil to paper, still move gracefully over the page. He gently shades in Bucky’s eyelashes.

Bucky wonders, idly, why Steve’s so fond of drawing him. He knows that the girls like him; always have. He’s tall, well built, and he’s seen worse looking guys in the neighbourhood. But he’s seen better looking one’s as well. None have ever taken his eye like Steve, but he’s seen them, all the same. Now that he’s thought about it, he can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why do you like drawing me so much?” he questions. Steve shrugs, eyes carefully trained on the page, the way they always were whenever he’d lie about how his most recent sickness was clearing up. It’s the only time Steve ever lies.  
“You’ve got an artistic face,” Steve tells him. Bucky snorts.  
“An ‘artist face’?” he repeats. Steve frowns, still looking at his sketch.  
“Yeah. The type of face that asks to be drawn,” he clarifies, cheeks beginning to redden. Bucky smirks to cover up his nerves, heart thumping against his ribs.  
“You think I’m pretty, Rogers?” Though his tone is teasing, the words only make his heart beat harder. The answer he wants is the one he doubts he’ll get. Even if he does, what would it mean? And nothing could ever come of it...

His thoughts are cut off rather abruptly, when Steve replies. As he opens his mouth, he looks up from his sketch to Bucky’s eyes, so he knows he’s being honest.  
“Yes.”

The silence that follows seems to last forever. It feels to Bucky that the world has stopped turning. He holds his breath, waits for Steve to add a rejection that never comes. Those earnest blue eyes never leave his. Steve looks almost frightened, a look Bucky has only seen a few times before, usually when Steve thinks he’s going to lose someone. When his mother died, at the HYDRA base, and the time Bucky had particularly bad flu.

His lungs slowly start to cooperate again when Bucky realises Steve isn’t going to take his words back. His instincts tell him to kiss Steve. He debates for a minute, eyes flicking between Steve’s eyes and his lips. Then he surges forward and presses his lips to Steve’s.

Bucky clamps his eyes shut and waits to be pushed away. His heart soars when he hears the pencil clatter against the floor, and Steve wraps an arm around his neck. The kiss is more than a little clumsy, but neither of them particularly minds. Bucky cups his jaw and moves his other arm so that it’s hooked around Steve’s waist.

It’s only a few seconds later that Steve pulls away. For a minute, Bucky thinks he’s going to tell him that he’s made a mistake. His heart sinks to his stomach, and he feels sick. But all Steve says is, “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

XXX

Bucky sneaks into Steve’s quarters every night after that. They don’t do much more than share a bed, like they used to in the winter in Brooklyn, but it’s comforting, almost like being home. No one realises, or if they do, they don’t mention it.

Bucky wakes up first on the morning they’re due to arrive in Naples. Once they get off the ship, there won’t be much chance for intimacy. Here, they have the privacy of Steve’s room, an entire hallway away from the other rooms. On their trek through Europe to Austria, he expects they’ll all be cramped in the one tent. He’s had worse, foxholes and trenches, but he’s going to miss the feeling of Steve’s lips against his own.

Steve doesn’t stir until five, when the early morning grey light has begun seeping in through the porthole. He was always a deep sleeper, and sleeps properly now, Bucky’s pleased to note, that he’s not being woken by his asthma, or an attack of a mysterious illness. Even if he’s still not happy about the idea of Steve being experimented on, he’s glad for the health benefits it’s given him.

He knows when Steve wakes, because the arm around his waist pulls him closer to Steve’s chest. Bucky feels himself melt into the touch.  
“Morning,” Steve murmurs softly in his ear. Bucky rolls over to face him. Steve looks how he always does in the mornings; his hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes half-lidded in a lazy smile. It makes Bucky’s heart speed up. Some things never change.  
“Morning,” he mumbles. He leans in to press their lips together. As always, Steve’s lips are a little bit warmer than his. And, as always, this momentarily sends him into overdrive as he forgets that it’s not from an oncoming fever.

When they break apart, Steve smiles lazily at him, and, for once, Bucky wishes they had all day to stay in bed. He knows it can’t last, though. Slowly, they disentangle their limbs from around each other’s bodies. Bucky watches as Steve stands, stretches and moves to the adjoining bathroom for a shower. He waits until the door thuds shut before getting up himself.

He stretches stiff limbs and runs a hand through his hair. He wishes he could stay in the cabin until it’s time to get off the boat, but he knows that if he does they’ll get caught for sure. Reluctantly, he pulls on the uniform he was wearing the night before and makes his side of the bed. As he buttons his shirt, his fingers brush against the edge of his dog tags.

He freezes at the contact. The small metal rectangles remind him that if he’s captured, they’ll be the key factor in identifying him. The thought sends a chill through him, the earlier, lazy warmth from Steve vanishing. He yanks the chain from around his neck and leaves them on the nightstand next to the bed. If HYDRA does manage to find him again, he doesn’t want to make it any easier for them.

When he gets out of the cramped shower at the end of the hallway, he finds Steve sitting on the edge of the bed he didn’t sleep in. He frowns when he spots the silver squares in his hands, and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t know how to begin the conversation, so he begins to pull his clothes on. As part of the Howling Commandoes, he’s been fitted with a custom uniform. It fits better, he’s relieved to find, than the standard issue he’s been wearing since he shipped out.

Once he’s buttoned the bright blue coat – though he scoffs at the impractical colour, it reflects his body heat, without being too warm – Steve speaks.  
“Why aren’t you wearing your dog tags?” Steve won’t look at him, and his voice cracks on the last syllable. Bucky shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, even though he’s knows it is.  
“Don’t wanna make it easy for the enemy to find their guinea pig again, do we?” The words sound too harsh, he realises, as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He winces into the silence. Steve still won’t look at him.  
“How will _I_ find you?” Steve whispers.

Guilt swells in his stomach, and Bucky feels like he’s going to be sick. The words sound so _broken_. He doesn’t want to cause Steve pain, but the thought of being found by HYDRA is suffocating.  
“Steve...” he murmurs, unsure how to continue. He sinks onto the mattress next to Steve, and places one hand over Steve’s. It doesn’t cover Steve’s like it used to, far from it, but it comforts him. “I can’t wear them. I can’t.”

Steve’s blue eyes meet his, head whipping up with a speed that surprises Bucky.  
“I can’t lose you. Not again,” he replies, so solemnly that Bucky feels like his heart is breaking.  
“You won’t.” Bucky tries to make the promise sound convincing, but he’s not sure he really believes it himself. Steve shakes his head. They sit there for a few more minutes, Steve turning the dog tags over and over in his hands. Finally, Steve looks up and breaks the silence.

“We can swap.” Bucky blinks, dumbly, at him, not sure what he means. Then Steve’s undoing the top of his uniform to tug his own tags over his neck. “If you wear mine,” Steve explains, “they’ll know you’re close to me, and probably a Howling Commando.” Bucky nods, slowly. The enemy would never know the difference between him and any other soldier if he’s wearing the wrong tags. There’s always the chance that they could guess, but the military have tried to conceal Captain America’s identity since he became a real captain. And he supposes Steven G. Rogers is a fairly common name.  
“Okay,” he agrees.

Steve hands him the silver rectangles engraved with his name, and Bucky slips them over his head. He watches, wordlessly, as Steve slides his on. Something about the moment feels sacred, almost like an exchange of wedding rings, he muses. He wonders if the moment holds the same significance for Steve. He wants to ask, but there’s a thump on the door from Dum Dum, alerting them that they have twenty minutes to eat breakfast before they arrive.

XXX

It’s a particularly long and cold night when they first take watch duty together. Technically, Bucky’s the only one who’s meant to be taking the shift tonight, but he’s unsurprised when Steve slips out to join him once the others are all asleep. They haven’t had any time alone since they arrived in Naples, a month ago. They sit, wordlessly, for a long time.

It’s been a long day and both of them are tired, with little to say. The tent’s pitched in a shallow valley between two mountains, and snow falls softly around them. The powdery substance lands in their hair, catches in eyelashes. Steve can’t help but think he’s never seen Bucky look so beautiful, and his hands itch for the art kit in their draughty apartment. He has a small, leather bound notebook in his pocket – and a pencil, of course – but he doesn’t think it’ll do Bucky justice. All the same, the sight is too striking not to capture, so he sketches it in the lantern light.

He knows Bucky’s watching him, but he doesn’t acknowledge his gaze. He knows if he does, he’ll do something stupid again, like telling him he thinks he’s pretty. Though it ended well last time, he’d rather save himself the mortal embarrassment it caused. He sketches quickly. He gets so little time with Bucky these days that he wants to savour as much of it as he can.

He finally meets Bucky’s gaze, and finds his eyes studying him, intensely.  
“Still drawing me, Rogers?” It comes out teasing, but Steve can hear the serious undertone to the words. He smiles, easily, and decides he doesn’t really care if he makes a fool of himself; Bucky’s never judged him for it, yet.  
“Always, Buck,” he admits. “You’re beautiful.” He’s rewarded by a rare rosy tint to Bucky’s cheeks. The sight makes him grin. He scribbles a note to add colour to the sketch’s cheeks and leans against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I miss you.” It probably seems like an absurd statement; they’re together all the time. But they’re rarely ever _alone_ together. Steve feels like he’s hiding all the time. He’s relieved when Bucky replies, “I miss you, too.”

Steve looks around to make sure none of their teammates are strolling around, then he leans forward to cup Bucky’s jaw. They meet in the middle, their first kiss in almost a month. Steve’s missed it like he wouldn’t have thought possible. It’s been like an ache. When they pull apart for air, they just look at each other for a moment, in the way they’ve been restricted from because they’ve been around others all the time. The words just tumble out of Steve’s mouth without his consent.

“I love you.”

Bucky stares at him, mouth gaping. For a horrible moment, Steve thinks he’s ruined everything. He claps a hand over his mouth, cursing everything under the sun, but most of all himself. How could he be so _stupid?_ He’s about to apologise, when Bucky takes a hold of his hand, removing it from his lips. He smiles a tender, soft smile, one he only ever sees when he’s sick or they’re with Bucky’s little sisters.

Their lips meet in their softest kiss yet. Steve feels like he’s melting, but his heart sinks when he realises Bucky hasn’t replied. Bucky inches back a few centimetres so that his face blocks out the world – which, Steve supposes, is only right since Bucky has always _been_ his entire world. He feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest when Bucky speaks again.

“I love you, too.”

It’s barely a whisper, but Steve’s heart soars at the declaration. He only has to move his mouth a millimetre to capture Bucky’s lips again, but it feels different this time. Bucky _loves_ him. He repeats it over, and over, and over again, like a mantra.

They break apart, hurriedly, when they hear the tent unzip from behind. Thankfully, Morita’s still half asleep, and doesn’t notice their red lips or cheeks.

XXX

The night before their mission to capture Zola, they sit huddled, behind the tent. Falsworth is meant to be on duty tonight, but no one says anything when Bucky and Steve go out instead. Even though they both know that they should be sleeping, getting as much rest as possible for tomorrow, when the train comes just past their cliff, they opt to spend the time together instead. Because no matter how many times Bucky tries to tell himself the sinking feeling in his stomach is just nerves – after all, it is one of their biggest missions yet – he doesn’t seem to believe himself.

There’s a blanket covering their knees, as they hold hands, sides pressed together, in the dim lantern light. Bucky watches as Steve sketches yet another picture of him, and can’t help but think that he could lose him tomorrow. The thought makes his throat close up, like he’s going to burst into tears; something he rarely does, and is usually triggered in situations where Steve has been close to death. But Steve’s not sick, and Bucky sure as hell isn’t going to let him get killed in combat.

Even though it feels like they’re a million miles from Brooklyn and the Steve and Bucky that they left behind, in a frozen wasteland of hell, Bucky can’t help but feel like he’s home. If he closes his eyes, and presses close enough to Steve’s warmth, at least. Steve picks that moment to lean across and kiss him and, yes, he makes hell feel just like home.

XXX

When he lands in the ice, Bucky’s first thought is that death shouldn’t be so cold. Then he realises that he’s in far too much pain to be dead – though he wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually in hell, all things considered.

He shifts his head to the side, neck screaming with a stiff pain, to get a better view of his surroundings, as he was trained to in Basic. He realises, with a horrible jolt in his stomach that he’s in the deep canyon between the cliff the train tracks run along and the mountains.

_The fall didn’t kill him._

He has to get back to Steve. He must think he’s dead by now. He can’t let Steve think he’s dead. He can’t hurt Steve.

It’s only when he tries to haul himself to his feet – every single part of his body protesting, especially his back – that he realises where his left arm was five minutes ago, is nothing but a bloody stump above the elbow. To his horror, he notes with bile rising in his throat, he can see the missing part of his limb a few feet away. He manages to turn his head enough that the vomit doesn’t choke him.

Whatever Zola did to him didn’t make him invincible, but it made him strong enough to survive the fall. He hopes that whatever it is keeping him alive helps his legs find the strength to get up, attempt after attempt to move failing. Eventually, he gives up. He supposes he’s paralysed. If he has any hope of healing, he’s beginning to think hypothermia will get him before whatever HYDRA forced into his veins takes action. That’s if whatever healed his burns and cuts even _works_ on the many large scale injuries he’s sure he now has.

He wishes he could see Steve one more time, though he doesn’t want him to see him in this state; half his arm missing, unable to move and lying in a pool of his own vomit. He suddenly remembers that he’s still wearing Steve’s tags.

He manages to get his right arm working well enough that, after a few badly coordinated attempts, his hand reaches through the collar of jacket and clasps around the silver metal resting just underneath. He told Steve he loved him before they left the camp this morning. He hopes he knows how much he meant it.

He waits for death to take him.

XXX

At first, Bucky’s heart leaps in excitement when he hears the feet shuffling through the snow towards him. He thinks it must be Steve, or one of their teammates, come to look for him. He’s regained the feeling in his left leg, and can completely move his neck, albeit with a searing pain. Maybe he won’t die after all.

Then he sees the approaching figure. A HYDRA agent dressed in snow gear. His heart sinks, and bile rises in his throat again. His lungs stop working. He can’t go back there. He’d sooner die.

As the agent drags him through the snow, back to whatever hellhole he came from, Bucky realises that the dog tags he’s wearing will make no difference; anyone who survives a fall from a moving train with only the loss of an arm is going to be fair game for experimentation as far as HYDRA is concerned. Still, he clutches the little silver square and let’s his fingers graze over the letters.

_Steven G. Rogers_

Steve’s not coming to save him this time. No one is.

_I love you_ , he thinks. He hopes Steve hears him.

XXX

When Bucky falls from the train, Steve stops breathing. Three weeks later in London, he still can’t. He feels like his lungs are being crushed and his heart is splintering through his chest.

The bar he’d sat in just a few months before with Bucky by his side, laughing – he can’t imagine smiling, let alone laughing ever again – is little more than blackened ash after the most recent bombing. He sits at one of the few tables still standing and drinks whatever liquor wasn’t destroyed. To his horror, he finds that, after drinking bourbon for two hours straight, and in no small amount, that he can’t get drunk anymore.

He curses Erskine for ever making him this way. If he hadn’t gone to that damned recruitment station at the fair, Bucky would never have fallen off the train. A small voice in the back of his head reasons that Bucky would have died from HYDRA’s experiments if he hadn’t saved him, but he ignores it. He lets tears trace down his cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away. He takes another sip of bourbon, wincing as it burns his throat.

Ever since his return to England, he hasn’t been able to stand the SSR headquarters. Bucky had been right about the possibility of it collapsing; during the air raid that had reduced the bar – and most of the surrounding buildings – to rubble, a large section, mostly offices, had caved in. Whenever he returns to it now, Bucky’s words – almost a premonition now, in Steve’s mind – echo in his head. He finds it almost as suffocating down there as he’s sure Bucky had. He spends most of his time in his hotel room or the burnt out bar, anywhere but there.

It’s dark outside when he finds the crumpled sketch in his pocket from the night when he first told Bucky he loved him. He smooths it out on the table in front of him, careful not to smudge the lines. Despite the fact he’s been back in London for three weeks, he’s yet to add colour, like he was planning to. Somehow, he doesn’t think he ever will. It hurts too much to change something that is so sacred now.

He stares at the snow dusted hair and the eyes staring up at him. The stunning eyes, as blue as the summer sky, will forever be etched into his mind’s eye. He wishes, pain stabbing through his heart, that he could see them one last time. He wishes he’d never had to look away from them.

When he hears the door swing open, he hastily stuffs the drawing back into his pocket, trying to avoid creasing it as best he can. He wipes angrily at the tear sliding down his cheek, and hopes that whoever’s come to find him won’t notice he’s been crying. Of course, when he realises it’s Peggy, he knows it’s been in vain; she can read him like a book. Though he knows she’s trying to help him, comfort him, he’s not sure how much it helps.

Steve wants to make them pay. All of the ones who hurt Bucky, the ones who got him killed. But the men on the train are already dead. Tactical suicide – cyanide in their teeth, like the first HYDRA agent Steve encountered; the one who killed Erskine – as soon as they were caught. He wouldn’t pass up a chance at Zola, but he’s got immunity now – Steve’s still pissed at Phillips for that – and he’s considered a valuable information source, which Steve supposes he is, and is the only one of high status _not_ to immediately commit suicide when captured. So he decides to go after Johann Schmitt instead. It was his regime and his authorisation that got Bucky killed. It will have to be enough.

Steve decides, downing one last glass in front of Peggy, that he will avenge Bucky if it’s the last thing he does.

XXX

His revenge, he realises in slight alarm, _is_ going to be the last thing he ever does. There’s nowhere to safely land the plan, one glance at the radar tells him that. He briefly considers setting the plan on course to crash into the ocean and jumping out. He doesn’t know if he’d survive the hypothermia of the swim back to Austria.

Steve Rogers is a survivor, always has been. If he wasn’t, the asthma and scarlet fever and pneumonia and his mother’s tuberculosis would have gotten him long ago. But he’s not sure this war is something he was ever going to survive.

He can’t remember a time before Bucky was in his life. They’ve been friends since they were toddlers, and he’s loved him almost as long. He could live without Bucky, he knows this, of course he could. He just can’t imagine it.

There’s no time left, time’s run out. He can see the water coming up. By the time he’d have broken a hole in the windscreen large enough, or managed to open the hatches for the bombs to jump from, he’d be drowning in the ocean.

He informs Peggy of his plan, tells her there’s no other way. He can’t tell her how dead he already feels, how dead he’s felt since Bucky fell from the train. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, but there’s no alternative.

As she promises to teach him how to dance, he realises he could carve out some semblance of a life with her if he’d been able to jump from the plane instead of going down with it. They could work for the SSR, get a nice house in Brooklyn, have the kids married couples are expected to produce, go dancing on the weekends. But it all feels hollow. He can imagine being happy, he just won’t have the chance.

The last few weeks planning his revenge have been the worst of Steve’s life. The war was always hell, but it had seemed manageable when Bucky was there to smile at him, reassure him, tell him he loved him. If it means seeing Bucky’s smile again, maybe dying won’t be so bad, he thinks.

As the ice comes into view at alarming speed, Steve places the creased drawing of Bucky on the plane’s compass, next to the picture of Peggy. He removes one hand from the console and encloses his hand around the dog tags that don’t belong to him.

As he meets the ice, his last thought is _I love you._ He’s not sure whether it’s meant for Bucky or Peggy, but, he thinks, maybe, it’s for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Yeah Boy and Doll Face" by Pierce the Veil.  
> I also want to add that the sequence with the ship is probably largely inaccurate. There was a fair amount of guessing combined with actual research, so if anyone has facts (and sources so I can double-check) on the voyage, please let me know so I can correct it. As I was unable to find any information on the subject, the Howling Commandoes depart from the London Docks on a Liberty Ship and arrive at the Port of Naples. Marvel mostly handwaved history, so there's a lot of guessing here. I calculated the journey and it would have taken 75 hours, 58 minutes and 10 seconds.  
> Bucky's sisters, Elizabeth and Ruth, are borrowed from [tinzelda](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda) and [Scappodaqui's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui) series Scraps  
> The scene with the dogtags was inspired by [A Kiss For Luck](http://goyath.deviantart.com/art/A-Kiss-for-Luck-536800285) by the amazing [goyath](http://goyath.deviantart.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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